


The Ghost of Past Memories

by SoliRavioli



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Angst and Humor, Dead Wilbur Soot, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Platonic Relationships, References to Depression, Reminiscing, Wilbur Soot-centric, i included the patches tag for clout, patches does not die in this fic dw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27858546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoliRavioli/pseuds/SoliRavioli
Summary: When Schlatt died, he didn't expect to reawaken in L'manburg. He sure as hell didn't expect to be forced to bear the grief of him and his old friend's pasts as they take a trip down memory lane.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, Niki | Nihachu & Wilbur Soot, Niki | Nihachu/Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 209





	The Ghost of Past Memories

**Author's Note:**

> i am highly unsatisfied with the fic, but i hope it's somewhat of a good read for you all :)
> 
> schlatt and wilbur's relationship is completely platonic, they're just childhood friends who miss what they used to have

When Schlatt opened his eyes he could see nothing but white. He couldn’t hear, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move. No thoughts dared to disturb the silence that had surrounded him. He sat in this seemingly endless void, and an almost peaceful aura draped over him.

He couldn’t remember how he had gotten to this point. He couldn’t remember anything in general; Schlatt had taken time’s place when he had appeared here. Nothing seemed to exist anymore. Even his own existence seemed unstable as he felt himself drift in and out of a state of consciousness.

He almost felt at home. Maybe drifting off into nothing wasn’t that bad, he had decided.

That was until he realized he was falling. Schlatt could feel wind wrap around his limbs, pushing him downwards. His vision became speckled with black spots, plaguing the void of its peacefulness and forcing his mind back into his body. 

Everything started rushing back to him like a fish fighting against the harsh current of the river. Blurry faces and a cacophony of colors filled his vision. The memories were almost muffled, but the feelings and emotions that came with them were clear as day. The election, the festival, the execution, the  _ pain _ -

Schlatt landed on a hard surface with a soft  _ oof _ . He opened his eyes and immediately felt a sharp stab of pain in his forehead. He blinked blurrily at what looked like a night sky above his head. The moon was nowhere to be seen, but the stars shone brilliantly to compensate for the lack of light.

Schlatt blinked a few more times before his vision finally cleared. The smell of freshly baked bread and traces of gunpowder filled his nose, and the sound of running water seemed to cause the cotton stuffing the inside of his ears to flow with it. 

He forced his body upwards with a loud groan. His surroundings took a few moments to register, but when they did memories flooded back into his head once again.

_ This is Manburg. _ His internal monologue took over as he looked around.  _ That’s where the diving tank was. And over there, that’s where we held our boxing matches.  _ Schlatt turned to his right.  _ And through that mountain… _

“Schlatt? Schlatt!”

The horned man froze at the sound of his name. The voice was almost familiar, but he didn’t realize who it belonged to until he saw a faint yellow spot in the corner of his eye.

“Wha- Wilbur?” The brown-haired man in question practically appeared in front of Schlatt, making him jump in surprise. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought…” Schlatt trailed off at the sight of Wilbur’s full appearance. He was practically transparent, and his skin and hair was a ghostly gray. He had switched out his rebellion outfit with a soft-looking yellow sweater and gray jeans, and Schlatt couldn’t help but notice the significantly cheerful glimmer in his eyes as he practically vibrated in place.

“What do you mean, what am I doing here? This is L’manburg!” Wilbur grinned. Schlatt took a closer look and finally noticed the party island they had decorated for the festival. The festival. Gods, that felt like forever ago.

“Well yeah, I get that, but  _ why _ ? Aren’t you supposed to be plotting my demise or something?” Schlatt struggled to his feet. “And this isn’t L’manburg; it’s  _ Man _ burg.”

Wilbur’s smile refused to dim as he shrugged and turned his back to the horned man. “That’s not what Tubbo calls it.” He tilted his head backward to look at the red, white, and blue balloons dotting the sky as the wind carried them to who knows where. “Did you know I used to be president?”

Schlatt reluctantly nodded, but the gesture went unseen. “You were too, I believe; but there’s no time for politics when you’re dead, you know?” Wilbur turned to face him, and that was when he noticed that he  _ didn’t have a fucking heartbeat. _

He looked down at the ground and noticed that he could see the wooden surface through his feet. His suit, from what he remembered, used to be riddled with dirt and stains from some of his energy drinks. Now, however, the fabric was crisp and clean, and he found himself being significantly more comfortable than he had been before, almost as if the inside was made of cotton.

He raised his hand to eye level and sighed when he saw Wilbur’s cheerful smile through it. “Well shit, I’m dead.” Schlatt conceded. He reluctantly met eyes with the brown-haired man in front of him and shook his head. “So now what? Are we just gonna stare at each other for the rest of eternity or are you here to lead me to some kind of afterlife?”

Wilbur just shrugged again and motioned for him to follow. “Nothing like that. Instead, why don’t I show you around the place? It’s improved quite a lot since the last time you’ve been here, wouldn’t you say?”

Schlatt nodded and shifted somewhat awkwardly in his shoes (ghost shoes? What would be the right term to use in this situation, Schlatt wondered to himself) as the sparkle in Wilbur’s eyes grew brighter and his body language became a bit more expressive and excited.

“Come, come!” Schlatt began following a few paces behind the other man as he was led up a small flight of stairs from the docks, where he had fallen out of who-the-hell-knows-where, and onto a larger platform. It was held up by uncut spruce logs and skinny wooden pillars, but it seemed stable as the two walked over it with no issue. The horned man couldn’t help but scoff at the red, white, blue, black, and yellow flags that blew gently in the night breeze as they passed; in his opinion, his rendition of the L’manburg flag was so much better than whatever these losers could come up with.

As the two walked Schlatt began to feel like pieces of his brain had slowly begun to click back into place. He didn’t remember much of anything past after he had passed out in the drug van, but ever since he interacted with Wilbur the memories began slowly dripping into his mind similar to molasses falling off a spoon and onto the floor. They weren’t all clear just yet, but they had certainly become a lot more vivid than before.

He could remember certain details, like the color of Wilbur’s jacket as he stood over him with a smug yet unsure smirk, or the harsh sunlight bearing down on him and Dream’s lackeys as they began raining what looked like an endless amount of arrows on top of the incoming members of Pogtopia.

  
  


He didn’t just remember memories from the war, however. He could also remember things such as the rapidly blinking lights of the dance floor from the day of the festival and the red hot tension that hung between him and Quackity as they fought over the fate of the White House. The memories weren’t exactly selective, it seemed, nor did they have much of a theme; they were just random snippets from Schlatt’s time as president of Manburg.

But from what Wilbur had said throughout the time they had been walking through L’manburg together, he didn’t seem to remember much of anything. Things like “ _ You were president too, I believe _ ” and the curious yet jubilant expression that always seemed to coat the other’s features every time they met eyes weren’t exactly normal things to say and feel for a literal terrorist. Schlatt had at least some semblance of memory of things that had happened before he died; why didn’t Wilbur?

“This is the town square, and over here is my watermill!” Schlatt muttered a curse to himself as the soft light of the lanterns illuminating their path proved to be a less than ideal source of light and caused him to fail to see an uplifted board in front of him. Note to self; ghosts can still trip over shit, even if they literally ceased to exist. Good to know.

“Looks, ah, rustic,” Schlatt replied, irritation evident in his voice. His tone seemed to unfaze Wilbur and only caused the brown-haired man to smile softly at the compliment. “I’m really proud of it, actually, so I’m glad you like it.”

Schlatt was led back through the town square and up onto another platform. This one was decorated with a few chairs and a bell sat on top of a tall piece of wood. To his left was another set of stairs and a large poster that read-

“Big T hearts little penis?” Schlatt asked, his tone full of both disbelief and amusement. “What type of country are you running here, Wilbur?” The man in question let out a loud huff and simply gestured to the wooden stand in the middle of the platform. “This is the presidential podium,” he muttered, “and I’m not the president of L’manburg; Tubbo is, remember?”

Ah, right. He had mentioned his former assistant before, hadn’t he? Well, no matter.

Wilbur seemed to be in a hurry to move on, as he quickly walked past Schlatt and up the flight of stairs to his left. Schlatt followed behind a bit slower, muttering something about “okay, but which T is it,” and “I mean, I’m not judging anyone about it or anything-”

“This is Big Q’s house-I don’t know why it made it so you have to go through it to get up here, but whatever-and through here is a huge ass crane!” 

There was indeed, a huge ass crane. 

“You seem really excited about this crane bit, Wilbur,” Schlatt commented. Wilbur simply shrugged and pointed to a door that could hardly be seen against the wooden base of the piece of equipment. “This is my house-I live in a sewer under a crane. Did you know that, Schlatt?”

The horned man chuckled in disbelief. “Uh, no, I didn’t know that. I have to ask- why?” Wilbur neglected to answer his question as he opened the door and hopped into a small tunnel filled with water. Schlatt hesitantly followed, silently thanking whatever higher power that was up there that the water didn’t smell like someone had taken a shit in it.

Wilbur led him through the water and down into the main part of the sewer. The water seemed to almost slide off of them as they swam to shore and climbed out of the steadily flowing liquid. An iron door sat to the side, which swung open when Wilbur stepped lightly on a pressure plate beneath it. He gestured for Schlatt to go first, and he complied with a curious hum.

As soon as he stepped inside Schlatt was hit with a blast of cold air. He inhaled the sharp scent of chemicals, which he could only assume was coming from the potion stands sitting to his right. Wilbur followed close behind and stepped in front of a spruce door leading to another portion of the sewer.

“Welcome to my home! This is where I sleep, and where I also like to make potions.” The man opened the spruce door and waved the other inside. Schlatt walked over and peeked inside, narrowly avoiding a puddle in the corner of the room. “And this is my library.” Wilbur grinned proudly. “I have quite the selection.”

Schlatt’s eyes raked over the collection of books and warily stepped inside. Wilbur sat on his knees and began rummaging through a barrel filled halfway with books coated in a purple and shimmery hue. “Would you like to read a few?” The brown-haired man asked. “I don’t remember a lot of these existing, but I use them to pass the time.”

Schlatt hesitated at the mention of his friend’s lack of memory. “Uh, yeah, speaking of which-” “We have  _ Independance _ , written by me-which is spelled wrong, for some reason. We have  _ Electoral Ballet _ ,  _ Best Day Ever _ . We even have  _ Big Q’s Funny Hoots _ , which I have yet to finish-”

“Do you have any books that you  _ do  _ remember?”

Wilbur paused mid-sentence and looked back into the barrel with a thoughtful hum. “I do, actually.” He pulled out a shiny looking book that looked oddly similar to the others. “It’s not a book that I  _ remember _ , per se, but rather  _ what _ I remember.” Wilbur glanced up at the horned man. “Why, do you want to read it?”

Schlatt nodded and peered over the other’s shoulder to take a closer look. The book was just a long list of bullet points, with some of the entries being longer and others just a few short words. 

_ \- The smell of bread _

“Niki’s bread, specifically,” Wilbur commented. “She always liked to give some to me when she had a new batch fresh out of the oven.” 

_ \- L’manburg _

“What all do you remember about L’manburg?” Schlatt asked. Wilbur thought for a moment before a soft laugh escaped his lips. “Most of it, I think. I remember the walls, the uniform. My friends.” He gestured to the rest of the page. “Some things about it I wrote down already.” Schlatt nodded and waited for him to continue.

“You know, I actually still have some of the books from when I was president in here.” Wilbur gently placed the book on the ground and used his knee as leverage to keep the pages from fluttering shut as he began rummaging through the barrel once more. He let out a noise of satisfaction when he pulled out two identical-looking books and placed them on the ground next to him.

One of the books was a title he had mentioned before, _Independance,_ while the other had _Declaration of War_ etched into the front cover. Wilbur opened the first book and gestured for Schlatt to come closer. “This was the first movement that truly started the war,” he explained. “There was some build-up, of course, but this book was the thing the L’manburg citizens needed to start their revolution.”

Inside of the partially battered book was a small jumble of signatures, along with a bunch of dramatic monologues Schlatt couldn’t be bothered to read. Wilbur, however, seemed fascinated by the title, and began flipping through the pages intently as he tried to drink in every little word. Once he was done he closed the book and scrambled to open the next one. A curious sparkle in his eyes caused them to shimmer, and Schlatt had yet another moment of disbelief as he struggled to comprehend the fact that such an innocent and curious looking ghost had actually blown up an entire nation in his past life.

“This one was Dream’s response. He was  _ not  _ happy, from what I remember.” Wilbur chuckled. “He was quite aggressive with it, actually. Unnecessarily in my opinion, but I may be a bit biased.” He shook his head and placed the books back into the barrel. “Let’s move on then, shall we?”

_ \- The Revolution  _

Wilbur paused at the third entry. “There’s a lot of blank spots here,” he whispered. “I remember why we were having the revolution- we wanted to secure independence away from Dream.” He let a few seconds of silence pass. “Not much after that. It was really exhausting, you know.”

Schlatt didn’t know, actually. He hadn’t been around the SMP when the revolution had begun, and the extent he’d heard about it was limited to a few comments from Tubbo comparing him to Dream when he was president. Nonetheless, he nodded along as the other man continued to speak.

“There were many wars and such. I don’t remember very many of them, but Tubbo tried to explain some of it to me. He mentioned the duel at the end, but he left most of it out. I don’t know why.”

“Tommy ended up trading away his discs when he realized we had been defeated.” Wilbur sighed. “He’s a smart kid. Impulsive, sure, but a smart kid.” 

_ \- Bullying Tommy (he’s a child) _

“Smart kid, huh?” Schlatt chuckled. Wilbur shrugged before letting out a laugh of his own. “Well, he is smart,” he relented. “He’s just a child.” 

_ \- Sparring with Techno as a kid _

This particular entry caused Wilbur to hesitate. He used his pointer finger to trace over the words, almost as if the ink had begun to separate from the paper. “These are really bittersweet memories.” He glanced back at the other man with a sad smile. 

“You know, the way we fought was similar to how Philza ended me off. Were you there for that, Schlatt?” The man in question shook his head. “No, of course you weren’t, you were dead.” Wilbur laughed awkwardly. 

“I actually have this really specific memory; we were fighting in a forest somewhere close to our house, right. And Techno pushed me onto the ground and held his sword over my heart. I’m not gonna lie, he thought I was gonna die there for a second. His eyes looked almost… murderous. Like he didn’t see me as his brother, but as his enemy.”

“Thankfully, Phil came to the rescue.” He pointed to another bullet point on the opposite page. “He had to hold the sword up from plummeting into my chest. I could’ve died that day, you know.” Wilbur’s eyes stayed glued to the page as he talked. “Techno really is an interesting character, isn’t he?” 

Schlatt had not expected an entire dump of information when he had asked about Wilbur’s memories. He didn’t know what exactly he  _ had  _ expected, really. A few mentions of L’manburg, maybe, but not an entire scene from when he was a child. He didn’t mind, exactly, it was just a bit surprising. He almost wondered if he had any from when they were friends.

Wait, friends?

“Uh, yeah, interesting character, all right.” He replied half-heartedly. Wilbur simply nodded in response and moved his finger down to the next bullet point.

_ \- The wind _

“That’s really specific.” Schlatt half pointed to the sixth excerpt on the page. Wilbur raised his shoulders and smiled. “It’s a really nice feeling, though. Just standing on top of a cliff or something, feeling the breeze in your hair.” The giggle the other let out almost made it seem like he could feel exactly what he was describing at that moment. “It’s refreshing.”

Jschlatt rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You’re so cheesy, Wilbur. Always have been.” Wilbur let out a confused noise. “What do you mean? Were we friends after the election?” Oh. So he didn’t remember their friendship. Great.

“Something like that. Whatever, just keep reading.” Wilbur reluctantly nodded and began sounding out the next portion of the book.

_ \- Being president _

“Alive Wilbur had a bit of a strained relationship with being president,” he hummed. “It was sort of stressful, being responsible for a whole nation and all, but I think he had fun.” The atmosphere was slowly losing it’s upbeat lift as they continued to look through the book. Schlatt could practically feel it in the air. 

“It’s hard, sometimes, having everyone’s eyes on you. It’s a reminder that you always have to do the right thing, you know?” Wilbur glanced back at Schlatt once more. “What about you, Schlatt? What was your presidency like? Tubbo told me I don’t want to know, but I can’t help but be curious.”

Schlatt paused. He did  _ not  _ like where this conversation was going.

“Uh, I don’t remember. It’s kinda blurry and shit.” A shitty lie. Nonetheless, Wilbur decided it was a suitable enough answer and silently turned the page, causing the man to heave a quiet sigh of relief. He wasn’t particularly keen on going down that path just yet; talking about the election would only awaken unwanted echoes of the past.

_ \- People cheering for me _

“Cheering for you?” Schlatt scoffed mockingly. “What a narcissist.” Wilbur shook his head and just straightened his posture. “It’s nice having people cheering you on sometimes,” he argued. “It makes you feel important.” The horned man silently agreed, but instead of saying as such he just muttered a quiet “I guess.”

_ \- Winning the election _

“I don’t remember anything after I announced the winner.” Wilbur frowned. Schlatt shrugged and pointed down to the lower part of the page. “Eh, if you don’t remember it, then it must not be important,” he shrugged. “Well, that’s not necessarily true-” “Skip this bit, I wanna get to the good parts.”

_ \- Fundy growing up _

“Oh, that’s right. Fundy’s like your, uh, fur baby or somethin’.” Wilbur nodded excitedly. “He is! He’s my little champion, you could say.” He puffed his chest out proudly at the mention of his son’s nickname. “I tried to teach him guitar when he was younger, actually. He wasn’t very great at it, but he always kept asking me to play him new songs. I think he liked seeing his dad happy.”

Wilbur looked up from the book briefly and stared at the stone wall in front of them as he spoke. “I wonder if he has my guitar,” he whispered. “Maybe Niki’s still trying to teach him how to play. I’ve been hearing these short little melodies just over the hill as I’m working on making L’manburg prettier, but they always stop before I can find where they’re coming from. I haven’t found out who’s playing them quite yet.”

Wilbur’s comment about his guitar caused Schlatt to recall a memory of his own; it was a little known fact that the two had been best friends as children before the election, and in that time Wilbur had been quite the avid musician. He would force Schlatt to sit on the carpeted floors of his bedroom and make him listen to him play his latest song. The horned man never found a need to complain when he did; it just meant seeing Wilbur in his “element,” as some may call it.

“Did you know Fundy was the first of few born in L’manburg?” Wilbur asked. Schlatt responded with a sharp shake of his head. “Well, he was one of Alive Wilbur’s main motivators for attempting to gain independence and making his own nation. To keep his son safe.” Wilbur chuckled awkwardly. “You know, Niki made him his own salmon plushie once. That, uh, didn’t last long.”

Schlatt didn’t want to know.

_ \- Niki _

“Niki.” Wilbur sighed dreamily. “Niki.”

Schlatt raised an eyebrow at the repeat of the woman’s name. “Niki, eh? She was your girlfriend, right?” Wilbur’s embarrassed giggle rose higher in pitch as he shook his head rapidly. “No no no, nothing like that. We were just friends, that’s all.” His smile faltered a bit as he reread the passage. “She could’ve been, though,” he whispered. “ _ We  _ could have been. But unfortunately, Alive Wilbur was a bit of a pussy.”

Schlatt let out one of his few genuine chuckles he had during his time in L’manburg. “No shit!” he laughed. “No fucking shit. Now read the next line, lover boy. My feet are getting cold.” Wilbur hastily cleared his throat. “Right, right. Next line.” 

_ \- The van _

“Ah, yes, the drug cartel!” Visual confusion must have appeared on Schlatt’s face because it caused Wilbur’s eyes to widen in the middle of his excited yell. “Have you never heard of the drug cartel, Schlatt?” Schlatt quickly shook his head. “Uh, no, I can’t say I have.” The brown-haired man let out a huff of confusion and disappointment. “How have you never heard of the drug cartel? It was one of the best businesses in the history of the SMP! Granted, it never exactly started, but it’s the thought that counts-”

“That’s great and all, but what has to do with the van?” Schlatt almost felt the need to take a step back from Wilbur’s immediate change in attitude. “Why, the van was the first building ever created on L’manburg soil! It was also the best, in my opinion.” Schlatt nodded slowly. So  _ that’s  _ why Tubbo didn’t want him to destroy it when he was in the process of remaking Manburg. Huh. Lame, but okay.

“In fact, the van was what sparked the revolution. I believe Tommy was the one who pointed out that everyone who tried to shut down our business was American. So, we started building up the walls, and it only grew from there.” Wilbur hummed. “Looking at it now, L’manburg looks a bit better without them.” Schlatt couldn’t help but agree.

_ \- Tubbo building everything _

Schlatt let out a half chuckle. “That damn kid. Always so responsible.” Wilbur agreed with a small nod. “He deserves to be president, honestly. I’ve seen him in action, and it’s quite impressive.” While a part of him agreed with the other’s words, a small nagging question in the back of his head caused the horned man to speak with uncertainty. “Isn’t it a bit weird, though? Having a child as president?”

“Eh, L’manburg’s seen worse.” 

Fair enough.

_ \- Phil protecting me _

Wilbur’s posture softened into something a bit more gentle. “Dadza, saving the day once more,” he said fondly. “He was always a great dad.” Schlatt didn’t really know what to say, so he chose to just nod and wait for his friend to get his sentiments off his chest. “He might have neglected me at times, but I think that just comes with being the middle child. He never did it intentionally.”

“I loved Phil. I loved him a lot.” Wilbur’s expression morphed into something a bit more downcast. “We can’t really interact the same way as we used to. Something always seems to put him off when I try to be affectionate towards him.” He sighed. “Oh well. I’d like to think he loves me just the same.”

_ \- Sally the salmon _

“Sally, huh? Isn’t that the fish-” “Moving on!”

_ \- Philza stabbing me to death with a sword _

An incredibly stark contrast to everything else on the list, Schlatt noticed. He leaned just slightly on the balls of his feet to try and catch Wilbur’s gaze, but the other’s eyes seemed rooted to the book. “I, uh,” he laughed half-heartedly, “don’t have an explanation for this one. It’s very… lucid, this one is. Very vibrant. I could experience it all over again in my head if I wanted to.”

Schlatt’s voice seemed to fail when he finally met eyes with the other man. “It felt like we were the only two people in the world, Schlatt.” The words were mumbled, but not lost. “And to us, we were.” Wilbur’s eyes looked similar to gray-tinted pools. There was no longer the spark of life that they once held when he was alive, and it was instead replaced with depths full of hidden emotion and yet to be released pain. His hair was no longer it’s signature brown, and instead a dull silver, similar to his skin tone. The only color that seemed to pop out was the monotone yellow of his fuzzy sweater. Schlatt lost his chance to analyze him further as the ghost broke off the eye contact to turn back to his book. The intense moment was over, but he still couldn’t help but be thrown off.

_ \- A large explosion _

“Hey, uh, Wilbur. Do you remember the cause of this explosion at all?” Wilbur shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Why, is it important?” 

Schlatt sighed. “No, I just had a thought. It’s whatever.” This caused Wilbur’s lips to purse in confusion. “I only remember it because of how intensely bittersweet it was. It felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest, but at the same time…” Wilbur let the words evaporate into the air. “There was this feeling that I can’t describe. This furious pain, combined with such sweet sorrow. It makes for quite the poem,” he chuckled hollowly. 

“There was a lot of yelling afterward. I wonder just what happened that day.” An answer failed to follow.

_ \- The taste of salt _

“The taste of salt. I remember reading in one of these books that this one chemical called  sodium chlorate is used in explosives; maybe that’s why it’s so vivid in my mind.”

Schlatt was very quickly beginning to run out of things to respond with. The air had begun shifting once again, taking on a more sorrowful tone. “Yeah, seems reasonable.” He grunted. Wilbur sighed at his own lack of energy. “Yeah.”

_ \- A ravine _

_ A ravine. Pogtopia’s ravine. _ Wilbur hesitated on the line for a few beats of silence before letting out a quiet whimper. “Why can’t I remember anything about this?” he asked, his voice was small compared to the empty space of the room they were in. “There’s so much missing here, I can feel it.  _ Why _ ?” Schlatt forced his eyes to avert Wilbur’s gaze. “I dunno, Will. I..”

_ \- Techno’s armory _

“Books, tunnels, arrows…” Wilbur whispered. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” A quiet sob escaped the other’s throat, causing the concern that had slowly begun to mount in Schlatt’s heart to reach its peak. Wilbur’s hand rose to catch the translucent tears that had begun to escape his eyes. “Wh… why am I crying, Schlatt?” He let out a watery sounding chuckle. “There’s nothing to be sad about, is there?”

Schlatt’s words seemed to fail him as he met eyes with the other man. He couldn’t help but think back to the election, to their many confrontations, to his last moments underneath his old friend’s clouded gaze. So much had become between them ever since they had met and became friends nearly a decade ago, including but not limited to a literal  _ war _ .

Schlatt believed he finally understood why Wilbur had lost a majority of his memories after he’d died. Maybe it was what he needed to finally feel at peace.

“C’mon, Will.” Schlatt’s mouth folded into a determined line. He’d bear the memories. He had no choice, really. Wilbur deserved it. Wilbur deserved to rest easy.

“Let’s go.”


End file.
